


(I Wouldn't Treat a Dog) The Way You Treat Me

by penelles



Category: Family Guy (Cartoon)
Genre: Coming Untouched, Dubious Consent, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power of Words, Public Humiliation, Rutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 03:52:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18241823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penelles/pseuds/penelles
Summary: Brian's lost a bet and has to be Stewie's dog. This is the preamble to a porno.





	(I Wouldn't Treat a Dog) The Way You Treat Me

“This is degrading,” Brian says simply, tailing behind his friend at the opposite end of his red leash, on all fours as per the agreement they'd made the day prior. Brian had lost a wager, and in losing, had to do whatever the baby genius asked of him for the day.

And Stewie wanted a dog.

“That's kinda the point,” the kid replies with a roll of his eyes, already tired of the complaints. “It'll do you some good to get back to your canine roots, just you wait.”

“Don't. Don't pretend there's a noble motive behind this,” the dog deadpans.

“You know,” Stewie snaps, “I hear a whole lotta complaining and not a lot of ‘woof woof’. Maybe next time you'll count your cards right.” Once they reach the park proper, the duo stop short beside a bench - one in the center, and bathed in sunlight. 

Brian waits a moment while his companion climbs up and is seated first before asking, “So can I sit up there with you?”

Stewie makes a show of humming and hawing over the answer, fingers on his chin; looking at the dusty ground at his friend's feet, and then at the splintering paint and dried up gum on the benchboards beside him.

“Suit yourself, as long as you sit properly, like a good dog.”

Brian frowns, but complies, crawling up to sit on his hind quarters with his arms before him on the bench. He sighs cartoonishly, self-conscious and growing more anxious about the kid's motive by the minute.

“So you brought me here so I can sit like a dog and say ‘woof’..? You know, we don't really sound like that--”

“Oh, come on. That isn't all there is to it,” Stewie beams. “I'm not going to be happy until that tongue of yours is lolling with drool from the corner of your mouth.”

It's a beautiful day, warm and sunny. One of the first few nice days so far this spring, which is precisely what concerns him: knowing that Quahogians cooped up for too long from snow and rain are liable to want to get out and stretch their legs first chance they get.

“Well it's embarrassing. What if someone I know sees me?”

“I don't know,” the kid says in earnest, tilting his chin in absent thought. “You know a lot of people in East Quahog?”

“Eugh,” Brian grumbles aloud, “nevermind.”

Tree branches bow and leaves flitter above them in the fresh spring air, and for a moment, it's easy for Brian to lose himself; several toddlers play soccer behind them in the field, and there are kids in the sandbox. It's almost as though this were a normal trip to the park for the two.

Stewie whistles a tune, slouching against the bench. If this were a normal day, Brian would have brought a book with him - or a newspaper. Stewie would be playing with the other kids - maybe - and certainly not monitoring Brian's every move.

It puts him on edge, unsure whether or not Stewie's objective is to be cruel.

Seems a bit like the beginning premise of a porno to be honest: the loser of a bet, bending to the will of the winner. He isn't too proud to let his mind wander - if it had been the kid who had lost, would Brian have tied Stewie up and called him a dog too?

He stifles a cough, looking around the park for a distraction.

Nearby, a man lets his rottweiler off its leash to run around. Stewie peers down at the loop of the leash in his left hand; looks over to where it's clipped to Brian's familiar leather collar.

“Would you like me to let you off your leash so you can go and chase the other dog?”

Brian's vacant stare vanishes, then, and his eyes go wide, “Are you serious? Look at the size of that thing, he'd kill me!”

“You're getting pudgy and soft sitting around the house all day,” the kid scoffs, prodding his friend in the side to demonstrate. “Some exercise wouldn't hurt's all I'm saying.”

A moment later, there's another dog dashing about within view: a beagle, enthusiastically watching his owner tease him with a tennis ball.

“How about that one?” Stewie says. “Wanna go play with that one?”

“Not really interested, kid,” Brian says, and as Stewie turns to follow Brian's gaze, he understands why.

There are two young women power-walking along the paved path through the park, and coming their way to boot.

The blonde's got her hair in a high ponytail and a v-neck tee that exposes the rim of her bra; her redheaded friend is similarly dressed, but plump in all the right places and her hair flows untamed behind her in the breeze. Young moms, probably free for the day from their responsibilities at home with the kids.

They slow their pace as they come closer.

“Aw, what a cute baby,” the redhead says, as her friend clasps a hand to her heart and coos, “And he has a doggy.”

She reaches out to pet the top of Brian's head, scratching behind his ear when he pushes into the contact; he doesn't deny himself the instinctual pleasure that Stewie was so hellbent on him embracing.

“He likes it when you scratch his tummy,” Stewie prompts, then, and the dog slouches on the bench, allowing the women access.

The blonde cards lithe, painted fingers though the hair on Brian's chest, scratching back and forth with fervor as her friend joins in, rubbing slightly lower out of necessity. “Yeahh, who's a good boy?” she chirps.

It's got Brian's tail wagging and his left leg twitching; it takes all his willpower not to blurt out anything weird.

And Stewie watches, gaze flickering between the women's fingers and the dog's eyes, heavy-lidded in bliss, writhing around on the bench beneath their touch.

“He likes it best when you scratch a bit lower,” Stewie tells them, and they follow his suggestion, moving their hands down Brian's stomach to between his hips; dancing over Brian's abdomen and rubbing harder when he begins to pant--

Until the redhead draws her hand away quickly, eyes wide with surprise and an awkward grin tugging at her lips. “Eww, I think he has a boner,” she says, incredulous.

She takes her friend by the wrist and leads her away from the bench, and they cackle amongst themselves, leaving Brian whimpering from the lack of touch until they're just distant blobs in Stewie's vision.

“That was fun,” the boy gapes with devilish glee. “Did you really get a boner? Just from them touching you?” he laughs - a short, wicked sound - “I'm a bit jealous that it takes me longer to get the same results...”

Brian moves his leg to try to hide it, but it's true, he'd allowed his animalistic nature to take over and gotten hard.

“Did you see the rack on the blonde? Back problems: yes or no?”

The dog groans, dragging a paw over his face in frustration. “Stewie, let's go home.”

“You can walk with that thing?” Stewie gasps in jest. He doesn't budge from his seat.

“Hey, Brian--” When the dog doesn't respond, Stewie tries again, elbowing the dog in the ribs for good measure. “Brian. Brian, have y-- has anyone ever let you put your dick between their boobs? Given you a good, hearty boobjob? I-- I mean you _saw_ the rack on that girl, right?” he chides. “Sign me up for _that_.”

The dog opens his eyes and stares miserably at the kid.

“Have you ever done that?”

“No,” Brian replies flatly, closing his eyes again to will away the shame between his legs while Stewie purses his lips in thought.

“Mm,” the kid hums. “And I suppose you never will, as long as you're with me...Still, it doesn't hurt to imagine, does it? That girl, young and eager on her knees, pushing her chest together for you to hump into - always aware that her mouth is just _right there_ , ready to taste what you've got when you finally co--”

“Stoppp,” Brian drawls, pained and panting; curled into himself on the bench. “Not here.”

Stewie idly swings his feet back and forth, basking in his friend's discomfort. “How often does it come up that you're a dog? Has that ever, like, deterred people?”

He strokes Brian's fur as he speaks, focusing particularly on his silk-soft ear, rubbing gently in circles with his thumb. “Naw, I bet you do fine. Lots of college floozies out there wanting to imitate what they see in hand-me-down amateur porn, huh? A lot of people want the ol’ dog bone?”

“People like you?”

Stewie scoffs, “ _Please_. Your species has nothing to do with why I want to be with you. Though heaven knows it's your _winning personality..._ ”

The kid trails off, musing in silence with a shy smile before shaking himself out of it with, “How's your boner?”

The dog sighs raggedly. “Stewie, can we please just go? You win, okay? I'll do literally anything else for you, but we need to do ‘this’ at home.”

More families have joined them in the park, now: thirty-something-year-old mothers sitting on benches surrounding the playground while their infant children frolic about the jungle gym.

Stewie starts to wonder if there really is anything to to idea that Brian might know someone here. He _does_ like women in yoga pants, and there seem to be a lot of those here. He thinks he might recognize one or two of the kids from preschool, but never has Brian met their parents.

“I don't think you're truly appreciating our situation,” Stewie says, then, tugging the leash with a jolt so that Brian has to look up at him. “Do you think anyone is looking at us right now? All these women are either watching their idiot children or are reading 50 Shades of Grey and making themselves just as horny as you are. Nobody knows you've got a boner, Brian, and if they did, they wouldn't care because you're just a dumb mutt who doesn't have the cognitive capacity to help himself.”

Brian shakes his head, struggling to sit up a little bit more under the short length of leash that Stewie's holding him to. He keeps his paws clasped over his groin, but as a whole, the kid’s words seem to have put him a little more at ease.

“Those two girls were looking at us, before.”

When he's right, he's right, and Stewie concedes with a curt nod. “I'll give you that one. I can't help that I'm adorable. But my point is, you need to relax, Bri...” He reaches to stroke Brian's paw discreetly with one finger, over and over until he feels Brian's muscles slack, if only slightly.

“...Because I don't think anyone at all would notice if I did this--”

And then Stewie's reaching over slowly enough not to attract any attention and grazing Brian's cock with warm little fingers; not gripping, just letting his fingers ghost the shaft as Brian sits there - his entire body tense and unmoving - mortified by the gesture.

He feels hot. He feels dizzy.

He feels a wave of arousal that jumps in his hips, and he hears his friend laugh because of it. If he was ever going to have a heart attack, Brian is sure that this would be the cause of it.

“S-stop that right now,” he hisses through sharp, gritted teeth, eyes too focused on the park goers around them to glare in Stewie's direction. But ultimately it's just a desperate plea, void of any authority, and he swallows around a lump in his throat as he realizes just how pathetic he must look.

“I know what you're thinking, ‘Stewie had this planned the whole time,’” he says quickly, affecting a poor Brian imitation. “But I didn't, I promise you. I'm just not one to let a golden opportunity pass me by.”

“Uh-huh,” the dog whines, trying in futility to shift enough in his seat to push the kid away.

“I think I actually might pity the women you've slept with, if that's your attitude,” Stewie snorts. “You know what I wish for us, Brian? Someday I wish we could try going a little farther, here - you know, just shoving me up against a tree and railing me?” His tongue darts between his lips. “Oh, we'd be hidden by the bushes of course, but there's always a chance that one of these desperate housewives would hear me cry out in ecstacy once you're too far gone to care about taking it slow...”

Brian is losing his mind, then; livid, about to really lay into the kid about how this is all so cruel, risky and awful. About how after this, he's really never going to want to fuck the kid ever again, and _especially_ not outdoors; but then in his peripherals he can see something coming:

A soccer ball flying straight towards Stewie's head so fast that it's just a grey blur, and Brian leaps to catch it before it can hit either of them--

And he does catch it.

“Good boy, my word,” remarks a truly flabbergasted Stewie softly, eyes wide and cheeks pink, just inches away from what the dog had been trying to hide.

He looks to Brian in awe - Brian, standing on the bench, both hands clenching the soccer ball tight, muscles straining so that he doesn't topple over onto the very kid he was protecting. Belly-out and exposed as the soccer ball's young owner comes running over to them: a boy around four years old.

The boy catches the ball as Brian hastily tosses it to him, making to sit down immediately to cover himself up.

“Thanks,” says the kid, looking at the duo with confusion. His fingers drum against the ball for a second and then he points, “What's wrong withur dog?”

“Ah,” Stewie says, following the young boy's gaze to between Brian's legs: the erection that is now only partially hidden from view. He goes for broke, then, stroking soft fur on Brian's shoulder as he reaches a hand out and grips the dog's member gracelessly.

He gives the dog a firm stroke, turning to the boy with a plastic grin, “This is what we call” - pumping with every word - “a ‘red rocket’.”

Brian's teeth grit together so hard he thinks they might shatter. “Are you crazy--!” he hisses lowly.

“Arf arf,” Stewie reminds in a pointed whisper as he continues to work Brian's shaft in firm, deliberate strokes.

The boy giggles, gripping his ball over his head.

“Red rocket!” the young boy yells gleefully, running back to the field. “Red rocket!” as he throws the ball out to his friends, laughing and screaming as he fades away behind them.

Brian is shaking uncontrollably now - positively quivering - his mind a heady cocktail of horror, anger and unabashed need.

“Shall I keep going, Brian?”

And then the dog growls fiercely, head snapping to the right to give the boy a cold once-over. His chest heaves with heavy breath as he grabs Stewie's arm - really digs his nails into the kid, like the mongrel the kid wants him to be - and pushes his tiny hand off of him.

His cock throbs from the sudden lack of attention, and he's sure he can feel himself dripping; is sure there's precum running along the underside of his cock.

He's sure he wants Stewie's tongue down there cleaning him up.

“We are going home _now_.”

Stewie stares the dog down and unclasps the leash from Brian's collar; says with an angelic smile, “So go.”

Brian leaps from his seat, awkward in motion with the stiffness knocking between his thighs as he lands feet-first on the ground. “Tch,” he scoffs under his breath, looking back at Stewie as he takes another step away. His brow twitches with irritation, “Well?”

“Well what?” Stewie spits, “I wanted to have a nice day at the park, so I'm going to stay right here and enjoy it.”

It's only when Brian does a double take behind him that he notices the tent in Stewie's overalls and the red dusting on the boys cheeks - either too proud to try and move, or too stubborn. His cock stirs at the sight, and he finds himself unwilling to leave the park yet again.

So instead, Brian grips the edge of the bench and pathetically buries his face in the benchboards.

“Stewie,” he inhales, “I know you're a masochist psychopath. And I know that you're getting off on this, but please-- Please let's just go back to my car. We can go somewhere private. I'll get us a hotel room--”

Stewie scoffs with a slight roll of his eyes. “You're being a very _bad dog_ , Brian.”

His words make Brian's gut tighten.

“When I tell you to relax, you really ought to relax, man. We could have avoided so much embarrassment if you just would have sat there and done as you were told.”

The boy's words are sharp and deadly serious, but soon he's reaching over, shuffling to sit on his knees as he takes Brian's chin into his lap. He scratches between the dog's ears, and Brian closes his eyes, trying desperately to find the pleasure in it, but oh so conscious about how close he is to Stewie's--

“Now why don't you join me up here?” the kid says with a knowing grin. “I'm going to make you come without so much as laying another finger on you.”

And Brian gulps, struggling to climb back up onto the bench. He lays on his stomach, and Stewie moves back against the armrest so that Brian can keep his head in his lap.

Stewie heaves a sigh, then, leaning down to place a kiss atop Brian's head, making the fine white fur in his neck prickle up on end.

“This is nice.”

The dog whines in protest. “Yeah, real nice.”

“Ah, Brian,” Stewie wets his lips, stroking the thin fur of Brian's muzzle, “when I see you like this, I-- I think some pretty outrageous things, let me tell you.”

Several of the park goers have begun to peter away; the day is still young, but neither Stewie nor Brian pay them any mind. They're far too caught up in the thick of things now: Brian listening to the kid's teasing words, and Stewie watching his friend squirm because of them. It's undeniably attractive.

“I wonder how difficult it would be to get you off, anywhere we go? Imagine, a blowie in the mall restroom...or a handjob in the theatre? Doing it in the car seems old hat by now, the thrill is in the potential of getting caught,” Stewie teases, rocking his hips very, very subtly. “Wouldn't you say?”

The dog shudders, and Stewie sighs out above him.

“So maybe one day Lois finds a love-bite you’ve left on my thigh...or scratch marks down my back - would you be proud of yourself if you got away with it? She’d notice, I think, but she’s too bloody ignorant to piece together the sordid origins of such things.”

He leans down closer to Brian, breathing hard for show; synching the rise and fall of his chest with Brian's.

“And you know, sometimes I'd like you to tie me up - would you like _that_ , Brian? Yours to do with as you please? I'd say after today, you deserve it, Bri. A good dog deserves a good, tight hole to fuck into whenever he wants it.”

All of the dog's muscles seem to stiffen, then; hips jerking involuntarily against the bench. “Christ,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “where'd you learn to say shit like this?”

“It's just what you do to me, Brian--” Stewie coos, sweat breaking out across his brow as he bucks his hips faster against the dog's snout. “I'm speaking from the heart.”

Brian shifts from quick, laboured pants to deep, slow breaths while Stewie's words tear through his brain; flinching, he bites the tip of his tongue - focuses on the pain rather than the blood still rushing down to his groin, making him unbelievably hard - harder now that he can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

He wants Stewie to make him come more than anything else in the world; is absolutely aching for it.

“I want you inside of me--”

He's never given much thought to the sound of Stewie's voice, but right now, in this very moment, it's like a drug. And there's something in the breathy way in which the boy’s talking - it's sincere, it's silky smooth and practiced.

“God, dog, I'd let you do _anything_.”

It's at this point that Brian breaks; thrusting his hips into the park bench in wanton lust, not caring about how he looks. It isn't all that comfortable, but it's what he can get under the circumstances. He grapples to the side of the bench with one paw, grabs at Stewie's thigh with the other, giving the kid a squeeze as he pants out,

“Stewie-- _fuck--_ ”

He feels more like an animal now than he ever has in his life, with his mouth watering and tongue itching to slip past his lips. His hips snap forward and he spirals deeper into insanity, open-mouthed against his lover, breathing him in. He can't stop his tail from whacking furiously against the bench, every embarrassing roll of his hips sends waves of pleasure through his body.

He wants to be inside of Stewie too, losing control and making Stewie pay for all of this; fucking into him hard and wild with complete disregard for him, like a normal dog would.

And all the while - through every wicked, sickening thought running through Brian's head - Stewie's above him, petting between his ears and cooing words of encouragement. “Good boy, good boy...”

When the absurdity of what's happening crashes down around him, Brian finally comes undone, spilling between the benchboards and his own gut, whimpering as release hits him in haphazard waves.

Time seems to pass in slow motion as Brian rides out his orgasm. Stewie seems content to let the dog go limp in his arms, still soothing his fur with delicate sweeps of his hands and never once complaining about his own lack of release.

It isn't the time or place for that, Brian supposes. Back at home, he'd be giving him hell.

He lays still for a moment, eyes closed - afraid to move given the mess he's made. He imagines the potential reality of ejaculate dripping through the slats of the bench, beading on the grass breaking through the cement below them. He feels equal amounts of satisfaction and shame; would he have felt any better if it had been one of the women from earlier treating him this way?

Maybe being treated like a dog isn't always _so_ bad.

Forgetting himself, he opens his mouth to speak, but then without saying a word, Stewie is clipping the leash back on to his collar and adjusting himself before sitting up straight.

“Time to go, Fido.”

When the dog looks up, there's a small gathering of onlookers nearby: mothers’ mouths agape, covering their children's eyes. There's a lady texting, judgment burning in her eyes from over the phone, and two teenage boys beside her tittering like jackals.

Brian is wide-eyed and speechless, mouth gaping like a fish's - if he could blush he'd be blushing, but he feels feverishly hot regardless. He barely notices Stewie hopping off the bench until his leash is tugged sharply, forcing Brian away from the sticky mess on the bench.

“It's probably best if you stay on all fours ‘til we get to the car,” Stewie says, nonchalant as anything as they walk down the pathway. “And, uh, maybe you shouldn't come out this way for a little while.”

The only thing on Brian's mind as they near his Prius is that Stewie is _definitely_ going to pay. He could devote entire years to planning his revenge, if he thought Stewie was capable of feeling embarrassment on this level.

They're mercifully far from the crowd that had gathered now, locked in and safe from prying eyes; together in the car, Brian turns to Stewie, eyes dark, expression cold. He wipes himself down with a wet-nap from the console and lets Stewie buckle himself into his carseat in silence. They've done this before: one of the only things to have happened today that Brian doesn't mind repeating.

And through it all, the boy actually has the gall to look anxious, chortling nervously upon meeting Brian's gaze: “We had fun though, right?”

“Hm.”

Brian smirks, then: a saw-toothed grin that he runs the flat of his tongue along, making Stewie shiver as his eyes follow from right to left.

When cornered and scared, a dog might bite - but Brian doesn't have that luxury the way a normal dog does.

What he _does_ have is a little freak who loves him unconditionally.

So he leans in, trapping the kid against the seat; towering over him and casting the kid entirely in shadow. He looks good like this, small and nervous - too often Brian admires is his young friend's confidence, but this--

This might be a little bit of Alpha mentality coming out in him after all. A bit of canine optimism, maybe.

He leans in so close that Stewie had to crane his neck to accommodate, heart pounding fast and loud and trembling with anticipation; doesn't even mind that the air between them is stale with alcohol and kibble.

Brian's teeth graze the kids neck, and he can't stop his grin from spreading.

“...How big of a bite do you think I can get away with?”


End file.
